


I Like Us Better When We're Wasted

by AlexiaArianna



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, F/M, Modern AU, Steamy, bellarke fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1926105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaArianna/pseuds/AlexiaArianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He infuriated her and set her blood on fire. When they were sober, it usually led to screaming matches and verbal lashings that left each one of them nursing their bruised egos for a week or more after. Octavia liked to equate it to pigtail pulling on the playground. </p>
<p>But when they were drunk? Well, it was a whole different kind of fire she felt in her blood. His off-handed comments didn’t seem to burn quite as much as the fire flared inside her each time he touched her intimately. </p>
<p>Based off the song "Wasted" by Tiesto, ft. Matthew Koma</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Like Us Better When We're Wasted

**Author's Note:**

> Song lyrics. I recommend listening. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N7TbfFgZJN8
> 
> I like us better when we're wasted,  
> It makes it easier to fake it  
> The only time we really talk,  
> Is when our clothes are coming off  
> I like us better when we're wasted  
> It makes it easier to say it  
> Lay all your laundry on the bed  
> And then I'll lay it in instead  
> I like us better when we're wasted
> 
> Ohhh ohh ohh oh oh
> 
> You are my glass half empty  
> Sipping my ocean dry  
> Emotionally spend me  
> Til none of our planets could align  
> But I could stand you one more night
> 
> You are a catch 22, either way I miss out  
> All of the grief I give you  
> It's energy I can't live without  
> But I could stand you one more night

“Take your pants off.” She quickly turned around (almost too quickly as she felt herself lose equilibrium for a moment before catching herself), flipped the lock on the door, and began to pull her shirt over her head in that no-nonsense way that only she could pull off. Next came her belt and she shimmied out of her skinny jeans until she stood in front of him in her sensible black bra and panties.

“Wait. What?” Bellamy glared at her through baffled, hooded eyes. She didn’t know why he was confused.

One minute, they were in the living room, sipping on some of Monty and Jasper’s moonshine. They had long since lost count of how many glasses had passed through their lips, but they were currently the only two who had managed to stay conscious this late. 

The next minute, Clarke clumsily grabbed the front of his shirt and sloppily placed her lips on his, immediately forcing her tongue in his mouth. She hesitated for a second, knowing her drunken reflexes had made that move a lot more inept than her actual skill, but he responded eagerly. Before he knew it, she was leading him to her bedroom like a puppy on a leash. 

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on. But if he needed one to connect the dots for him, Raven was currently passed out in the bedroom next door. Not that she particularly felt like bringing her roommate into this.

“I said: Take. Off. Your. Pants,” she repeated herself slowly as if talking to a child, punctuating each word. At the confused expression on Bellamy’s drunken face, she continued. “Do you need help, or something?”

His eyes were hooded in what she had initially thought was lust, but now she’s thinking it’s due to the moonshine consumption. How much had they had? She was somewhere between wasted and black out. It was the perfect recipe for disaster. Not that she had minded this particular disaster when it had occured before.

Bellamy growled at her challenge. Every time someone told him what to do, he felt compelled to do the exact opposite. “Fuck you.” But here she was, practically naked in front of him and he had a hard time ignoring the hard-on that started to make his jeans a little too tight to be comfortable. 

“That’s kind of the point,” Clarke deadpanned. “Are we doing this or what?” She pulled the clip out of her hair and her blond curls tumbled down her back. Tousling her hair in a way she knew he found irresistible, she tried to not let her insecurity show. Maybe the last couple times were a fluke. He was the one to initiate this – whatever it was – the two times before. She bit her lip, the only physical sign of her self-conscious thoughts. 

He infuriated her and set her blood on fire. When they were sober, it usually led to screaming matches and verbal lashings that left each one of them nursing their bruised egos for a week or more after. Octavia liked to equate it to pigtail pulling on the playground. 

But when they were drunk? Well, it was a whole different kind of fire she felt in her blood. His off-handed comments didn’t seem to burn quite as much as the fire flared in her belly each time he touched her intimately. 

The first time? 

It was during a night just like this. Monty and Jasper invited themselves over, arriving with several bottles of their latest brew in hand. Bellamy arrived a few minutes later with more boxes of pizza than their group of six could consume.

(“Got to make sure my baby sister gets a well-balanced meal once in a while,” he smirked, placing the boxes on their crowded kitchen table and snagging an apple out of the fruit bowl. He took a giant bite and began to chomp on it loudly, grinning at Clarke like a challenge. Disgusted, she threw a look his way before leaving the room.)

They ate, they drank, and they pretended that, just for the night, they weren’t technically full grown adults.

(“Suck it up.” Bellamy liked to remind them that his status of older brother left him five years older than each of the occupants in the room. “Why do I bother hanging out with you children?” At which point Octavia would promptly stick her tongue out at her older brother, and the boys would remind him that their unique brand of alcohol could only be consumed in the company of their charming selves.)

Clarke used to think Bellamy only came around to check in on his baby sister.

(Her roommate and self-appointed second best friend since Octavia’s freshman year at university – “I’m going to teach you how to live!” O had declared one night at a frat party Raven had dragged her to sophomore year, after knowing her for all of two seconds. She’s still not sure what spurred this declaration, but whether it was the third cup of beer O was on or the scowl on Clarke’s face, she was glad Octavia had decided that.)

Now she wasn’t so sure his motivations were purely brotherly protection.

Clarke and Bellamy seemed to have the most tolerance out of their odd group of friends, and always ended up sitting alone, together, on the couch in the living room with the others passed out in various positions somewhere around the apartment Clarke, Raven, and Octavia shared.

It was the fifth anniversary of her father’s death. She hadn’t told anyone at that point – she swore when she left Ark, VA and her mother and the Jahas behind that everything would stay buried in her past – but she suspected the boys’ arrival was prodded by the girls’ notice of Clarke’s sour mood. 

“So, Princess,” he began. That detestable nickname didn’t sound quite so condescending coming from his slightly slurred speech. “You gonna tell me why we had to drop everything and cheer you up tonight?”

She closed her eyes for a second and briefly wondered if she was drunk enough for this. But her mouth decided she was before her brain had a second to keep up. “My dad died,” she blurted out.

Bellamy’s eyebrows drew in with confusion. “No offense, Princess, but your dad’s been dead.” The drunk were so blunt.

“Yeah, five years ago today.” 

The two sat silently for a minute and Clarke willed herself not to get emotional. She was not an emotional drunk. She would not cry. She would not be weak. 

“Sorry,” he lamely said, not really knowing what to say. “You want to talk about it?” 

“Not really.” And then he surprised her. 

He leaned forward, capturing her bottom lip between his, and biting softly. As soon as he made contact, she felt a spark that took her breath away. He pulled back, but her arms snaked around his neck, her legs moved to straddle his hips, and her head tilted match his lips again, desperate to feel something other than the sadness that had manifested as a bitchy mood all day. 

When he kissed her, it felt like every other kiss in her life up until that point had been child’s play. When he slipped his tongue inside her mouth, she tasted that night’s moonshine in his mouth and it exhilarated her. His expert mouth teased her to the point of frustrated pleasure. It was as if everything that made her want to scream at him while they were sober had manifested in this sexual way and it had the exact opposite effect on her. She tried to bring herself closer, arching her chest into his.

Both set of hands moved under each other’s shirts at the same time and while she welcomed the warmth of Bellamy’s rough fingers, his hazy eyes widened in shock.

“Your hands are fucking cold. Are you sure you’re not dead?” he growled. Sober Clarke would have punched him for that comment, or lashed back with something biting and witty. All that Wasted Clarke wanted to do was feel the electricity between them again.

She roughly pulled off his T-shirt, promptly told him to shut up, and nipped at his lips again. She ground her hips against his, making her intent clear. Cold hands forgotten, he relieved her of her shirt as well and picked her up. With her legs wrapped around his waist, he stumbled to her bedroom, bumping her into walls and knocking pictures off the wall. That night their lack on inhibitions and clumsy hands made for a long, but satisfying night. 

Afterward, as they lay under her sheets, she mumbled bits and pieces to the mystery of her past. Her mother’s betrayal and her father’s sacrifice tumbled out of her lips. She was so sure that Bellamy was already asleep and if he wasn’t, there was no way he would remember it the next morning.

When they woke the next morning, the two dressed in silence. They exited her room, prepared to pretend that night had never happened. Spotting broken glass on the floor, Clarke called to Bellamy’s retreating back, “You’re buying me new picture frames.”

Bellamy chuckled, not looking back, “In your dreams, Princess.” 

The second time?

That was the night she ran into Finn. Deciding to forgo Monty and Jasper’s creations for the night, the crew decided to be real adults and go out to a bar. Octavia had picked one where she would conveniently run into her latest conquest.

(Though, in hindsight, bringing her brother along for that show was probably a stupid idea.)

They had settled into the drive bar for a long night of fried food and shots. Jasper and Monty tag-teamed their favorite pick-up lines, providing the entertainment for the majority of the night. But as soon as Octavia saw Lincoln enter the bar, she abandoned her friends in a flash in favor of chatting up her new favorite artist. 

Eventually, Octavia and her conquest had wandered to a dark corner of the bar to no-doubt do scandalous things. Bellamy’s hands clenched and unclenched multiple times as he made jerked motions towards and then away from where Octavia was. Quelling his protective side was no easy task. He downed the rest of his drink and slammed the glass down on to the table before storming out the door.

Clarke nursed her Jack and Ginger, feeling the last couple of drinks spin in her head as she listened to Jasper’s story of how he and Monty got caught with a trunk full of weed in their senior year of high school for about the hundredth time. 

“Clarke?” She heard a timid voice behind her and she spun around a little too quickly only to be faced with the shaggy hair and sheepish smile of Finn Collins. “Hey…”

“What are you doing here?” 

“I, uh, I saw Jasper check in on Facebook.” He gave a little sheepish wave to Jasper and Monty on the opposite side of the table. The two boys raised their eyebrows and mechanically waved back, temporarily in awe of Finn’s stalking abilities. “I thought it would be cool if I-“

“Well, it’s not cool,” Clarke snapped. Her eyes darted to Raven who was kicking a guy’s ass at pool on the other side of the bar. “You need to leave.”

She got up and all but pushed him towards the exit, but not before Raven caught the movement and honed in on what was going on. Raven was a tough girl, and anyone looking at her in that moment might not have noticed the effect Finn had on her, but Clarke saw it. She increased her efforts to get him out the door when Raven turned back to her pool game, suddenly flirting with her opponent a little more obviously than before. 

Getting Finn outside was a bit tougher than she thought it would be, as she was a victim of not realizing just how drunk she was until she attempted to stand. But as soon as the cool night air hit her skin, her head began to clear a bit.

She rounded on her stalker with renewed anger. “You can’t keep doing this. You need to stop calling, stop texting, stop mysteriously showing up where I am – especially if I’m with Raven.”

“If you would just let me explain-”

“No!” She paused and took a deep breath, collecting her jumbled thoughts. Her eyes softened as she continued. “I loved you,” she was embarrassed when her voice broke slightly, “but you betrayed me. You broke my heart. But you didn’t stop there, because what you did to me was nothing compared to how you betrayed Raven. Did you even think about her?” She looked down, defeated, and turned to walk inside.

“I’m going to fight for you,” he insisted, ignoring her question. “I’m going to show you that we were meant to be together. I lo-“

“I think she wants you to go.” Bellamy pushed off from the building and moved between them. He tried to use the cold to quiet the voice in his head screaming for him to take his little sister away from that man and run away. Seeing Clarke and Collins fighting undid all his calming efforts, and his anger needed an outlet.

Finn looked at her helplessly, giving her his patented puppy dog eyes, expecting her to ask him to stay.

Clarke pushed Bellamy aside and looked Finn in the eyes, speaking as clearly as possible. “You should go. And please don’t come back.”

Finn slowly turned away, as if expecting Clarke to call him back at any second. But she didn’t.

When he was finally gone, she turned to Bellamy, “Thanks.” She took a shaky breath. “I should go make sure Raven’s okay.” 

She turned to leave but he grabbed her by the arm and spun her to face him again. Looking her in the eyes, he said, “You don’t always have to be the strong one, Princess.”

“I know.” She took another deep breath. “But I am anyway.” She wasn’t sure what possessed her, but she got o her tiptoes and gently kissed Bellamy’s cheek. Later she would blame it on the whiskey. “Thank you.”

Before she turned to leave again, she saw his dark eyes grow darker with lust. “Meet me in the bathroom in ten minutes,” he whispered into her hear. He wasn’t sure if it was seeing her stand up for herself or some perverse need to show her she’s worth it, but he wanted to be the one she sought comfort in.

Not trusting her voice, she nodded once and went inside. 

It was quick and sloppy and Clarke bruised her lower back from the concrete wall Bellamy had her pinned against. But just as before, she felt exhilarated and completely satisfied. 

As they stood in the silent aftermath of their fucking (because it certainly wasn’t lovemaking), Clarke felt a moment of weakness. He held her body close to hers for a minute relishing in human contact. “I thought I loved him,” she confessed into Bellamy’s neck. 

He didn’t respond.

“But how do you love someone who plays with other girls’ hearts like that? My first instinct when I found out was to protect and comfort Raven – which is ridiculous because she’s one of the strongest girl’s I know – so maybe I didn’t really love him like I thought I did.” She could feel her brain telling her to shut up and her mouth giving her brain the finger as she rambled on. 

He buckled his belt and began to move towards the door, leaving her alone against the wall. Running a hand through his hair, he said, “You deserve better than that asshole, Princess. Wait for your Prince.”

And then he was gone. The bathroom felt colder and goose bumps began to break out all over her arms. 

This time?

This time it was her turn to be bold. Tonight’s brew had done a number on both of them and she could feel his eyes traveling over her naked form. He was turned on. She could tell. But he was fighting it.

“Look, I don’t want to do this tonight.” 

“Why not?”

“None of your damn business, Princess. Now move.” She was blocking his only exit and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could resist.

“Not until you tell me. What makes this time different? I’m drunk, you’re drunk, lets fuck. It’s what we do now, isn’t it?” She was never as crass as when she drank. 

“We’re wasted.”

“I like us better when we’re wasted.” She took a deep breath and prepared for the word vomit that was about to come out. “I don’t hate you and that urge I usually get to put duct tape over your mouth sort of just disappears. I’d much rather put something else over it. All I want to do is tear your stupid clothes off and talk. I can tell you anything, and you can tell me, and we don’t argue, we just fuck. When I’m sober all I want to do is get a rise out of you, but when we’re wasted? Its like fucking lightning storm, there’s so much electricity. And when we fuck? It’s so good it almost hurts. I’m scared. I’m scared that I can’t say any of this while I’m sober. And I’m scared that maybe you only like me when we’re wasted.”

He cut her off, grabbing her roughly by the waist and capturing her lips with his. The shortness of breath she experienced from word vomiting all over the place was nothing compared to the air that left her lungs and made her head spin. Her knees trembled and her hands found their way into his shaggy hair, twisting and pulling it with pleasure. 

His pants and shirt joined hers on the floor quickly, and he seamlessly moved her towards the bed until the back of her knees bumped the mattress. 

His lips paused and one of his rough hands held her face, forcing her eyes to meet his. “Maybe next time, we don’t have to be wasted.”


End file.
